This Is War
by Hyper4Hetalia
Summary: Italy can't stop dreaming about Holy Rome, who warns him that every Nation of the world is in danger. Italy isn't sure the dreams are real, but then Nations start disappearing. Better summary inside, multi pairings, human and country names used. GerIta USUK PruCan RoChu Giripan Spamano DenNor SwissAus SuFin LietPol SeaLat, ect.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary:**_

**Italy keeps having dreams where his childhood friend, the Holy Roman Empire, visits him, claiming that he and all the other Nations are in danger, and that Italy's the only one who can save them. Italy isn't sure he can believe the dreams at first, but then Nations start disappearing. [Human and Country names used]**

**Multiple pairings,**** including GerIta, PruCan, USUK, FranLux, RoChu, Giripan, SwissAus, LietPol, SuFin, and DeNor, maybe some others.**

It had been years since Feliciano Vargas had had _that_ dream.

He stirred gently for the state of unconsciousness he had only just assumed, a bright light shining through his eyelids. Something soft tickled his cheek, a warm, gentle breeze brushing downy auburn hair across his forehead. The air smelled nice, clean, almost... floral. There were no birds chirping, nor the sounds of any people or animals near by. The only thing he heard was the rustling of wind stirring leaves up in high branches, and blades of grass brushing gently against one another.

It was so peaceful.

Eyelids slid black, revealing to the world a pair of warm, honey-colored eyes, framed by long, reddish-brown lashes. For a moment he just lay there, staring up at a brilliant azure sky, its surface smudged here and there with pleasant, tiny clouds. He couldn't see the sun, but everything was still bright and serene. It was truly a beautiful sight to take in.

Feliciano pressed his palms into the soft viridian grass, the muscles in his thin arms tightening as he pushed himself to his feet and took a look around. Ah, yes! He knew this place, though he hadn't been here for many years. He recognized the flawless ringlet of trees encircling the clearing; the small, budding flowers in beautiful, pale pastels. He remembered the smell of the air and the brightness of the sky. This place had been his home away from home, where he had been able to catch fleeting moments away from his harsh life as a servant in that often unfriendly, pasta-less house. It was here he had once whiled away the days with Holy Rome, teaching him how to draw rabbits and flowers.

The thought of his friend brought a pang of sadness to the young Italian's heart, awakening a dull, throbbing sadness that had never really gone away. How many years, centuries had it been since he had last seen Holy Roman Empire? His mind took him back, through many, many years of memories, to that day outside of Mr. Austria's house. The fleeting kiss, the promise that one day Holy Rome would return, and the two would see each other again. That 'one day' had never come, and after so many years Feliciano had forced himself to come to the realization that Holy Roman Empire was gone, that he had fallen along with his nation.

At least, Feliciano was sure, it must have been a noble death.

"Italy,"

He closed his eyes, a sad smile touching the corners of his mouth. Sometimes, when he came to this place in his dreams, he could hear the voice of Holy Rome softly calling out his name, though that was all there had ever been. Just that voice. Even in his dreams, Feliciano was destined to never be reacquainted with his friend. His friend and... possibly his first love.

"Italy," it came again. Feliciano felt his heart give a squeeze, something hot and wet sliding between the gaps in his eyelids, clinging to russet lashes.

"Holy Rome," he whispered, clenching his hands into tight fists, his lips trembling as he held back whatever had decided to lodge itself in his throat, trying to get the right words out. "I... I really miss you. I still want you to come back like you promised, so that we can eat pasta together and I can teach you how to drawl." some of the warmth collecting in his eyes managed to slip past the tightly clenched lids, and soon slow, silent tears had begun to race down his cheeks. They slipped into the crevasses on either side of his nostrils, into the corners of his fluttering lips. Some made it farther, tracing the outlines of his jaw and tickling as they fell down his slender neck and soaked into the fabric of the black button-down beneath his cobalt jacket. "I want you to bring me food like you used to, and even though it sucks, I promise I'll eat it, b-because it'll be from you." his breath hitched in his throat, and he started to sob quietly. Nations distanced themselves from humans and were very careful not to get attached because- compared to them -humans lived very short lives. Therefore, the permanent loss of a friend was something foreign and hard for a Nation to comprehend. Feliciano doubted that thinking about his friend would ever be easy.

"Italy," the voice was close. Always before, it had been a whisper from the distance, carried to him on the gentle breeze, so quiet he could have even imagined it. Not this time, however. This time his name was spoken so clearly, Feliciano could have sworn that it came from directly behind him. In fact...

His heel dug into the soft grass, slowly pivoting his body around to face the other direction. He waited a moment before opening his eyes, praying for all his worth that when he did so, his friend would be standing there. Eyelids drew back slowly, immediately assaulted by a burst of bright, heavenly yellow light that momentarily turned the whole world to one blur of a thousand different shades. He blinked rapidly several times, his golden eyes narrowing to focus of the smear of black standing only inches in front of him.

"H-H..." sound was pulled from the little Italian's mouth. "Holy... Holy Rome." once again tears welled up in Feliciano's eyes, threatening to spill down his bronzed cheeks. He held out his arms and propelled himself forward, pressing his face into the chest of a grown-up personification of the fallen Empire.

"Italy," he said a forth time, though this time his voice was filled with emotion as he wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, moisture gathering in his own startling electric-blue eyes. A small, stray piece of blonde hair fell out from behind the rim of his tall black hat, coming rest at the center of his forehead. "Italy, I've missed you."

Feliciano tilted his head up slowly so that their eyes could meet, staring into into the face of his former friend. Even though he hadn't seen Holy Roman Empire grown up like this, something about the sturdiness of his jaw, the furrow of his brow and the intensity of his eyes seemed really familiar. Oh well, it could have just been the fact that he had once known this face as well as his favorite pasta recipe. "Holy Rome," he managed to say again, brushing the piece of yellow hair back into place. "You never came back..."

"I know, Italy." his expression was remorseful and even a little anxious. "But we... can't talk about that now." he reached up and cupped the smaller boy's face in his hands, momentarily biting his lip before he spoke again. "Italy, you're in danger. Not just you. Your friends, the other Nations. The _world_. Italy, you're all in danger and you're the only one who can help me stop it."

"Ve!" Feliciano squeaked, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. Why did his friend have to say such scary things when they had only just been reunited? He didn't want to think of sad things! He wanted to sit down and draw and talk just like they used to! "No, Holy Rome! Please don't say such sad things!"

"But its true, Italy!" the ex-nation said firmly, sounding a little exasperated. "Please, Italy, do this for me! I know I haven't always been kind for you, and that it wasn't fair of me to have you wait all these years, but I have people I want to protect too! I have friends, a brother, people who are still alive and could get very hurt if you don't help me save them!"

"A... fratello?" Feliciano's eyes widened. "Who!"

"You mean he never told you?" Holy Rome asked, then sighed and shook his head. "I suppose it would be hard for him to bring up. Prussia never handled these kinds of things well. He would act like he doesn't care, but he really just internalizes things and lets them tear him up."

The Italian's eyes stretched even wider. "Prussia!" he repeated incredulously. "Prussia is your fratello!"

The taller man nodded solemnly.

"So that means Germany is your fratello too!" Feliciano exclaimed with excited realization. "Ve~ That's so magnifico! I really love Germany!"

Holy Roman Empire only stared at him for a long moment, then looked away. "Italy, you keep changing the subject." he pointed out with a sigh. "I really need you to help me."

"But Holy Rome," Feliciano said quietly, looking down. "All I am good for is making pasta and waving my white flag."

The other boy smiled slowly. "Maybe that's all you need to do." he leaned down and kissed the Italian's forehead. "You're strong, Italy, and a loyal friend. I know you can do this, but it doesn't have to be alone. You will always have your friends to back you up, and me." his silhouette began to shimmer with a gold reminiscent of the sun, fading him around the edges, as though he were disappearing into thin air. "I don't have long, Italy." he said, suddenly urgent as the gold shimmers crept across his skin. "Promise me that you'll protect everyone!"

"From what, Holy Rome!" Feliciano asked frantically, reached out to take his hand, trying to get him to stay, but his fingers only slipped through the other boy's as though they were made of air, the molten shimmers slowly eating away at the image before him. Another tear spilled down his cheek. "Holy Rome, I'm scared. What can I possibly protect my friends from?"

The ex-nation was almost completely engulfed now, only a small portion of his face remaining. "From themselves, Italy." was all the Holy Roman Empire could manage to say before he was completely swallowed up into thin air, a few stray tawny flecks of light disappearing into the heavens, leaving no sign behind that Holy Rome had ever even been there in the first place.

Feliciano watch them go, warm droplets of water falling freely down his face until the dream eventually faded into black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Bare with me on this chapter, dearests. Its awful compared to the first one, but things start picking up again in chapter three! And thanks a bunch for reading this!**

.

Ludwig Beilschmidt slowly opened a pair of shocking electric-blue eyes. It would be lying to say he was surprised to spot a familiar Italian curled up beside him beneath the sheets; however, he _was_ caught off-guard to see tears running down the usually bright, happy face he knew so well. By the look of it, Feliciano was still asleep... perhaps he was having a nightmare?

"Italy?" the tall, broad-shouldered blonde spoke in a deep voice with a thick German accent. He propped himself up on one elbow, reaching out with his other hand to awkwardly touch his friend's shoulder. "Italy, wake up."

Feliciano was usually a heavy sleeper (hell, he could even give Heracles a run for his money), so it honestly gave Ludwig a bit of a scare when the other boy's golden-brown eyes suddenly snapped open. After giving a soft "Ve?" of confusion, the Italian blinked a couple of times, trying to clear the hazy remnants of sleep from his mind. "Holy Ro...?" he started to say, then paused, looking puzzled. He squinted at the blonde before him, as though he were having trouble seeing him clearly. "... Germany?"

Well, this was certainly peculiar behavior. "Italy, what are you doing here?" he couldn't remember seeing his Italian friend at all the night before. It was possible his older brother had let him in, or- knowing Feliciano -it was possible he had had a key made without Ludwig's knowing.

As though he had read his mind, Feliciano lifted up a small bronze key, offering a sleepy smile. "Fratello had a meeting with his Mafia," he explained, looking a little guilty, as well as rather tired still. "And I was scared to be all alone, an-and I missed Germany." the smaller of the two reached for Ludwig's arm, holding it tightly. "Ve, so that's why I came here. I was going to wake you, but Germany just looked too cute while he was sleeping!"

A light pink color crept across the larger man's cheeks as he sat up. "Well, I suppose I should be used to it by now." he said to himself. "Are you staying for breakfast?"

Feliciano's expression immediately brightened. "Si!" he said cheerfully, springing out of bed. "I'll make pasta!"

"Nein." the taller man said without missing a beat, throwing back the covers and standing, stretching his toned body. "If you keep eating carbohydrates like that you'll get fat, and then people will start mistaking you for an American. I'll make you wurst and scrambled eggs."

Feliciano's face fell. He would have loved a bowl of pasta, but he also didn't want anyone to think he was American. "Okay..." he said sullenly, borrowing some of Ludwig's clothes (they were much too big on him, but he hadn't thought to bring his own), and then heading downstairs and into the kitchen with his friend.

He lowered himself into a seat at the kitchen table, watching Ludwig go to the counter and begin gathering the supplies he needed to make their breakfast. The German's hair was still ruffled from sleep, his bangs draped across his forehead instead of in their usual slicked-back style. Feliciano liked the look for Ludwig- it made him look younger and more laid back.

The tiny Italian let out a squeak when a pair of piercing electric-blue eyes flicked upward and focused on him. "What are you staring at, Italy?" he asked, tapping an egg against the side of a bowl.

"Ve~ I was just-" Feliciano twisted around when he heard a door open behind him, just in time to spot Ludwig's older brother, Gilbert, making his way out of his room in the basement. "Ciao, Prussia!" he greeted the albino enthusiastically.

The older Nation winced, clasping a hand to the side of his head, almost dislodging his pet chick from its usual perch in his sterling hair. This earned him several agitated tweets in response, to which he winced again. "Hey Feli," he greeted him in his usual raspy voice, ruffling the smaller boy's auburn hair as he collapsed into a chair across from him. "Try to keep it down a bit, ja? I've got a bitch of a hangover."

Ludwig glanced at the clock, raising an eyebrow. "Its barely 7:30, isn't that a little early for you, bruder?" he asked, starting to arrange wurst onto three separate plates as the eggs continued to cook. "Especially with a hangover."

Gilbert stopped massaging his temples and glanced over at his brother, giving his signature laugh. "Keseseses! What's wrong, West? Aren't you the one whose always pestering me to get up before noon?"

"And when have you ever listened?" Ludwig rolled his eyes, taking three forks from the drawer and arranging them onto plates, before carrying the food over to the kitchen table.

"Ve~ thank you, Germany!" Feliciano scooped up his fork and promptly began stuffing his face with food. It wasn't pasta, but his friend wasn't such a bad chef- much better than Arthur, to say the least (but then again, anyone was a better chef then that bushy-browed Brit).

Silence fell between the three as they began to eat, which allowed memories of his dream the night before to return to Feliciano. He remembered it more clearly then he had ever remembered another dream, as though everything that had happened was permanently engraved in his mind. Just then, a particular piece of his conversation with Holy Rome stood out to him.

"Prussia?" he said quickly, looking across the table at the albino, who had been picking apart some of his wurst and feeding it to Gilbird.

"Ja?" he asked, glancing quickly at him and then back down at his pet.

"Were you really Holy Roman Empire's fratello?"

Suddenly Gilbert's hand slammed down onto the table, where it hit the rim of his plate, propelling his food and a rather flustered chick across the kitchen. The albino didn't seem to notice, his dark red eyes fixed on the floor, his mouth drawn out in a flat line. Feliciano had jumped at the loud noise, surprised by the other man's unexpected reaction. Ludwig was frozen in his seat, watching his brother curiously.

Once again silence befell them, and several minutes passed before Gilbert finally moved, raising slowly from his chair. "I'm... going to have breakfast at Mattie's house." he announced, avoiding their confused gazes.

"Um... who?" Ludwig asked after a moment, tilting his head to the side.

His brother ignored him, sauntering over to the front door and grabbing his jacket from the coat rack, slipping it on before snatching up his car keys. Gilbird- his feathers ruffled and coated in bits of scrambled egg -landed on his shoulder, tweeting irritably to himself. Without another word the albino wrenched open the front door and stormed out into the cold morning.

Gilbert didn't realize, but he had give Feliciano more of an answer than he had ever intended. It was obvious due to his reaction that he was indeed Holy Rome's brother, but how had Feliciano been able to dream something he had never known before? Or, had his friend's spirit really visited him the night before in his dreams?


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I didn't feel much like proof-reading this, which is why I'm thinking about getting a Beta, but I'm not totally sure yet.**

**Anyway, finally some suspense! Plus you get some cute little bits of PruCan and USUK!**

.

The sound of the front door opening and closing roused Alfred F. Jones from his dreams. His room was still very dark, save for a small American flag-shaped light (which totally _was not_ a night light to keep the monsters and ghosts away, or anything like that), drawing him to the conclusion that it still had to be rather late. A quick glance at the digital clock on his nightstand confirmed his hypothesis- it was only 3:27 a.m.

So who was in his house at this hour?

"Tony?" Alfred called in what was most definitely an _un_-timid tone, wondering if maybe his alien friend had simply stopped by to raid his refrigerator, or to borrow a video game... At almost 3:30 in the morning.

That was totally plausible, right? After all, stranger things had happened. And this night was in _no way_ starting off like that horror movie he had forced Kiku into watching with him a week ago... right?

The sound of footsteps filled the otherwise eerily silent house, followed by the unmistakable creek of the staircase. The sounds were too loud and too heavy to be made by someone as small and light as Tony, the American realized; feeling an uncomfortable, prickly heat rush down his spinal column.

_Okay, nothing to freak out about, Jones._ he told himself, drawing in a few steadying breaths of air through his nose. _Who else could possibly be coming to see you this early in the morning?_ Aside from Tony, there was only one other person who had a house key...

".. Iggy?" Alfred tried to keep the nervousness out of his tone, though was unsuccessful. He caught his breath when he heard the footsteps in the hall come to a stop, and the only sound he could hear was the racing of his own heart and the blood pounding in his ears. _Please be Iggy, please be Iggy, please be Iggy..._ he found himself chanting over and over in his mind, whilst his arm was reaching reflexively for the cell phone he had left on his nightstand. He wasn't sure what good it would do him, but he clamped his thumb down on the first number in his speed dial, until the words 'CALLING Arthur Kirkland' lit up his screen.

He listened, breath held, as the ringing started on the other line and, to his dismay, was not echoed in the hallway outside his bedroom door. He watched with wide blue eyes as the doorknob slowly began to turn, and then light from the hall flooded the room.

Alfred squinted against the flood of yellow light, momentarily cursing himself for not having put on his glasses. All he could see was the silhouette of a man, approximately the same height and build as himself. Something small and dark was clutched in the stranger's hand was slowly being lifted, pointed toward Alfred.

He opened his mouth to speak, to make some kind of noise, but no sound came out. Vaguely in the background, he heard a familiar voice, "Hello, you've reached the answering machine of Arthur Kirkland. I am currently unable to take your call, but if you leave your name and message after the beep, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Those were the last words he heard before pain exploded through his entire body and his own agonized scream seemed to drown out every other sound in the world. Then, a crushing, stifling darkness overcame him.

.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

_DING DONG~_

KNOCK. KNOCK .KNOCK.

"For the love of maple..."

Matthew Williams shuffled down the steps, blinking against the blue-gray lights of a winter Canadian morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes beneath a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He still wore his favorite over-sized red hoody, complimented by a pair of worn sweatpants with more than their share of holes in them, all topped off with his favorite polar bear-shaped slippers. He was just getting over a cold, and he really wasn't sure he had deserved such a rude awakening.

He unlocked the front door with fumbling, tired hands and stifled a yawn, letting in a gust of freezing air as he pulled the front door open.

"G-Gil!" Matthew squeaked in surprise, feeling a blush heat up his cheeks when he spotted a scowling, moody albino on his front step. Oh maple, _why_ hadn't he dressed nicer for bed the night before? He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, for once wishing that the Prussian wasn't able to see past his 'invisibility' like the other Nations. "Wh-what are you doing here..?"

"Pancakes." came the grumbled reply. "Now."

"O-Oh. Okay.." Matthew blinked, a little startled. He was used to Gilbert showing up on his doorstep every now and then, demanding pancakes and the homemade maple the Canadian had gotten him hooked on; it was also no secret that Gilbert had a bit of a soft spot for Matthew, which was why it was strange for him to behave so.. harshly.

The blonde-haired, violet-eyed Nation stepped back to let him inside, scurrying into the kitchen to get started on their breakfast. He heard the sound of Gilbert following close behind (albeit at a much slower pace), then the scrape of a chair as the albino pulled out a seat and slumped down onto it. This really _was_ peculiar behavior for his friend. By now, Gilbert would usually have started going on about one of the latest misadventures he had had with Francis and Antonio, or at least be begging for him to send a rather large shipment of maple over to his house for days when he couldn't spare the trip.

This moody silence had him worried.

"S-So Gil.." Matthew swallowed past the nervous lump in his throat, getting to work on making the pancake batter from scratch. "Is something, um, t-troubling you?"

Gilbert slumped forward onto the kitchen table, his arms folded beneath his chin. He had always felt a strong sort of connection with Matthew; Matthew was the only person who knew of and understood Gilbert's fear that one day, now that he was no longer a Nation, everyone would forget him and he would disappear. Matthew, of course, was used to 'disappearing' all the time. They had an unspoken agreement between them, of sorts; neither would ever forget the other, so that neither would ever disappear. That mutual understanding had made the two a close, unsuspecting pair of friends over the past few years. Gilbert was actually even more comfortable telling Matthew most things than he was Francis or Antonio; so if he was ever going to get this off his chest, now was the time to do so...

"Have you ever heard of the Holy Roman Empire?" Gilbert began with, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He had been staring straight ahead, looking at nothing of particular interest, only to turn his gaze to the Canadian at the stove. Matthew was watching him with a wide-eyed curiosity that made his heart feel strangely heavy. "It was before your time..."

"I think.." the blonde tapped his index finger thoughtfully to pursed lips (a cute little habit of his, Gilbert had noticed), accidentally getting a few flecks of powdery white pancake batter on his face. "I may have heard Francis mention it a few times." he said finally.

Gilbert nodded, reaching up and carefully plucking a sleeping Gilbird from his makeshift nest in his silver hair, running the side of the creature's yellow feathers with surprising tenderness. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about how long it had been since he had last spoken of this to anyone... or if he ever even had. "He was my little brother."

The egg Matthew had been about to crack against the side of his mixing bowl popped out of his hands, cracking and spilling its contents onto his nice, polished hard-wood floors. "M-Maple.." he blushed when he saw Gilbert's eyes focused on him again, though made no move to clean the mess up from the floor. "You.." he cleared his throat. It was always so hard to speak and keep track of his thoughts when the Prussian looked at him that way. "You said.. 'was'...?" it somehow left his lips like a question, though Matthew hadn't intended it to be that way. Obviously Gilbert had said 'was', as in the past tense- the only little brother Matthew had ever know the albino to have was Ludwig.

Gilbert nodded and stood up, suddenly feeling the need to move around, to keep himself busy in order to prevent too many emotions from welling up inside him. He grabbed a few paper towels, a damp washcloth and a small bowl, going to kneel at Matthew's feet. "We were never particularly close," he began, plucking bits of eggshell off the floor and setting them in the bowl. "I was the oldest, but he was Vati's favorite... that really pissed me off."

Matthew nodded silently for him to continue, his lips parted slightly in awe. He had heard Francis say his fair share of times how it was next to impossible to get Gilbert talking about his past, unless it was something for him to boast about. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Gilbert was confiding something in Matthew that he most likely never had in anyone else before. He couldn't help but feel a little excited about that, even though it hurt him to see his friend so upset.

He was also surprised to hear that Germania had favored Holy Roman Empire to Prussia. It seemed that, despite their polar opposite personalities, Matthew and Gilbert really did have quite a bit in common. After all, when Matthew had gone to live under England's rule as a child, he had always been second best to Alfred.

"That kid.. he was pretty weird." Gilbert continued quietly, sounding almost as though he were speaking to himself now. "And annoying. But at the end of the day, he was still my brother.. and we were sorta alike. We both wanted to become the strongest Nations we could be, and he was well on his way to achieving that goal." he paused, staring down at the yellow-orange disk he had just been cleaning probably more intently than any man had ever stared at an egg yolk before him. "Which... is probably why it came as so much of a shock when he died."

Matthew swallowed dryly, feeling his heart give a small squeeze of sympathy for both the albino knelt before him and the Nation he had never met.

"I was all alone by then." Gilbert continued, his ruby eyes clouded with memory. "Vati had disappeared the same way Rome had.. and being the oldest, it should have been my responsibility to protect my little brother. If I had been there.. maybe I could have stopped it; maybe he could still be here today... but at least I would have died trying."

"Gil..."

The Prussian continued as though he hadn't heard him. "So then when West appeared, I vowed to do things right this time around. I wouldn't let another little brother die. And I'm really proud of the Nation he's grown up to be. I'm glad that even though I don't have a Nation anymore, he does. But.." he bowed his head, his fingers slowly curling into fists. "Its still not enough. It still doesn't make amends for the fact that I failed Vati and I failed my brother the first time."

Matthew waited several long, silent moments before bringing himself to speak. "Gil," he said again, kneeling slowly in front of the albino. He reached out and took his friend's hands, unfolding them from their tightly clenched fists. "You... look like you could use a beer." he found himself says, before he was even aware that he had done so.

Maybe he had said the right thing, though, because just then Gilbert lifted his head to give him the smallest of smiles. "Pancakes _and_ beer, Mattie?" he found himself teasing. "You spoil me."

"I know." the Canadian smiled, standing brushing his hands off on his sweatpants. "But don't go expecting this kind of treatment every time you turn up on my doorstep in a sour mood, Gilbert Beilschmidt." he teased back. "I'm only doing this because you were kind enough to clean up that egg for me." he crossed over to the refrigerator, pulling out one of the expensive German beers he had been saving for an appropriate occasion.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow in surprise when he spotted the name of the brand. "Damn, Mattie, there's nothing more attractive than a man who knows how to pick a good beer." he mused, too focused on the beverage to notice the Canadian's face flushing a bright cherry red.

"Wh-what!" Matthew squeaked, staring at his friend in shock. Did that mean-!

"I always took you for a wine kind of a guy." Gilbert continued, oblivious to the others' outburst. "What with being part French n'all."

Matthew handed over the beer before he could accidentally drop it, or something. "I-I do actually prefer wine," he said quietly, trying to get his already slightly high-pitched voice to stop squeaking and squealing like a twelve-year-old boy going through puberty. "But I bought this because.. y-y'know, you c-come over a l.. lot, and I know you r.. really like beer, and-!"

Gilbert smiled and set the beer down, reaching out and pulling the stammering blonde into a close hug. "Danke, Vögelchen." the albino whispered softly in his ear, and Matthew had a hard time standing upright when his knees suddenly felt so weak.

.

"Ah, bollocks!"

Arthur Kirkland shouted in frustration, sitting up in bed. He was due for tea with Lizzie (the Queen), in less than an hour, and he was at risk of being late all because his alarm hadn't gone off!

He grabbed his phone of the nightstand, groaning when he realized it must have turned itself off sometime during the coarse of the previous night- he always left it on in case of emergencies, and he had had it set to be his back-up alarm.

"Just my bloody luck." the Brit grumbled, scowling disdainfully at the screen as he switched the device on. "Stupid piece of j- hang on." he frowned when a flashing alert popped up on the screen. "Why did America call me at 3:30 in the morning? Bloody wanker, probably scared himself silly watching another horror movie with Kiku."

Arthur lifted the phone to his ear and pressed a button, waiting to hear whatever message the American had left him. He heard his own voice on his answering machine, then a faint shuffling noise from Alfred's side of the line, before an agonized scream pierced his eardrums.

Arthur gasped and dropped the phone, heart pounding wildly inside his chest. He started at the phone, listening as the scream was cut short, followed closely by a heavy thud and more shuffling, before the line went dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur pulled up into Alfred's long driveway, shutting off the car and looking at the mansion in front of him. Well, from the outside everything seemed normal; though the curtains were still drawn and it was early afternoon, which made it hard to tell whether or not any lights were on. Arthur had tried calling the American all morning, but he hadn't answered his cell or house phone.

"I'm not worried about him." Arthur said to himself, opening the car door and stepping out into the sunlight. "Its just that it'll be bad for me if he's dead or anything like that." his hand dove into his pocket, fishing out the key Alfred had given him the last time Nantucket had gotten caught in his shower head and he had had to call the Brit for help.

He went to put the key in the front door, his heart jumping uneasily in his chest when he discovered it was already unlocked. _Bullocks.. its just that wanker being a forgetful idiot again._ He convinced himself, turning the doorknob and stepping inside. "He's going to get robbed some day, living in a house like this and not locking his God forsaken doors." he grumbled.

Taking a glance around the first floor, it didn't appear like anything was amiss- everything valuable in sight was completely untouched. Arthur headed toward the staircase, a knot coiling nervously in the pit of his stomach. There was nothing to associate with Alfred's presence- not a loud, rancorous laugh; the blaring noise of video games through his fifty surround-sound speakers; and even the greasy, salty scent of fast food had begun to fade.

Making his way to the top floor, he turned down a long hallway. The door at the end, the door to Alfred's room, was the only one wide open. Arthur almost ran to it, pausing in the doorway in horror, an icy chill running up his spine.

There had obviously been some kind of a struggle. The sheets had been half-pulled off of the bed, a chair was toppled over, and there were fingerprints dug into the hard-wood floors (something that could only be made by someone as freakishly strong as Alfred).

After a quick but thorough inspection of the room, it became clear that he was the only person left in the house. But where was Alfred? What had happened to him?

.

The enormous conference room was filled when noise. One-hundred and ninety-four pairs of eyes were focused on the Brit, and everyone was talking at the same time.

"An emergency meeting with every single Nation in the world," Sadiq grumbled impatiently. "The world had better be ending, eyebrows, or else I'm out of here."

"Why don't you leave anyhow?" Heracles suggested, glaring at him. "I'm sure everyone here would be just as happy to see you leave as you would be doing it."

"What was that, cat lady!" the Turk demanded.

"Please, you two, listen to what England-san has to say.." Kiku begged quietly, holding his Greek friend's arm to keep him from lunging across the table.

"Ve~ I'm hungry." Feliciano's voice chimed in above the others. "Germany, want to go get some pasta with me after the meeting? Ve, unless they're going to serve some here afterward! In which case, lets eat here, because in this economy even pasta can be expensive sometimes, and I forgot my wallet at home today! But that's okay if we go out, right Germany? You can pay for me this time- it'll be like a date! Ve~ I could pretend I was with a pretty girl! Um, not that you aren't pretty, Germany!"

"What's this I hear about a date with my brother, potato bastard!" Lovino demanded, leaning around the Spaniard to his left to glare across a few seats at the German. "You better keep your potato-peeling hands to yourself, kraut, or I'll have my mafia on your ass faster than you can 'liverwurst'!"

"Lovi~ its not polite to threaten people!" Antonio scolded gently, beaming as he petted the feisty Italian's hair, pretending not to notice when he hissed at him.

"Mmm, he can threaten me all he likes." a certain Frenchman spoke up, smirking. "I'm not Germany, but I could be into that kind of stuff~"

"Hey!" the German in question snapped, his ears tinted red with embarrassment.

"Why must you all insist on being vulgar?" Roderich huffed, rolling his eyes. He propped one elbow up on the table, placing his chin delicately in the palm of his hand. "Now can we just get to the point? I have an important peice of music to go home and compose."

"As much as I hate to admit it, he's right." Vash said, drumming his fingers impatiently against the table. "Can we just get this over with so we can all go home?"

There came a few grumbled, reluctant agreements around the room; after all, no one really wanted to get on the trigger-happy Swiss's bad side.

Arthur gave the Swiss a grateful look before finally raising out of his seat and clearing his throat. "Some of you may have noticed," he began, gripping the corner of the table until his knuckles turned white, trying to keep his hands from shaking. It wasn't that he was scared of public speaking- he just didn't want them to realize how worried he was for his former charge. "That America is not here today."

A murmur of surprise swept over the room as several of the Nation's realized for the first time that they had yet to hear any obnoxious bouts of laughter or smell the greasy scent of any fast food the American had decided to bring along with him to the meeting.

"I got a call from his cellphone last night around three-thirty a.m." he continued, setting his cellphone down on the table and playing the message that had been left, trying not to wince when he heard Alfred's scream and the phone cut off. Arthur refused to look up at the stunned faces of his audience. "When I woke up, I tried calling several times to make sure he was okay, but he never answered. When I went to his house, he wasn't there, but all the valuables were still in their place, and only his room had been a mess. I don't know what happened, but if someone managed to kidnap him, then they must be a formidable enemy if they were able to over-power America. I think we could all be in danger. Also, I'd like to put together a search party for America, so if anyone's interested, please let me know as soon as possible."

"I-I'll help!" Matthew spoke up, hoping he would be heard this time.

"If Mattie's going, so is the awesome me!"

"Si, I will help you too, amigo!"

"Well, if Tonio and Gilbo are going, then I suppose moi will also."

"Awesome! Bad Touch Trio, back in action! Hey bruder, you should help too!"

Sigh. "Ja, I suppose I will."

"Ve~ well, if Germany's going, then I will too!"

"Chigi! Now _I _have to go and make sure that stupid tomato bastard keeps his hands off my little brother!"

"That America owes me money still, aru! I guess I have to go to make sure he pays it back."

"Kolkolkol, if China's going, Russia shall come too, da?"

"Hai, I suppose I should also join the search."

Arthur nodded, though was a little dissappointed that no one else offered. "Right, so we have Canada, Prussia, Spain, France, Germany, Italy, Romano, China, Russia and Japan, correct? Plus me, that makes eleven people. If anyone else decides they want to help, you all know how to contact me." he turned, adressing the volunteers. "Lets all go back to my place." he suggested, "We can decided where to go from there."

Feliciano stood up as everyone started to leave, lost in thought. _You're in danger, Italy. Not just you, your friends. The world._ Again Holy Roman Empire's words echoed in his head. Were they all really in danger? Or was this just one big coincidence?


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred rolled back his sleeves and cracked his knuckles, reaching out and grasping the thick iron bars between his fingers. He pulled, the muscles in his arms tightening. "Come on, muscles, don't fail me now..!" he hissed through gritted teeth, pulling with all his hamburger might….. and nothing happened. Again.

"Awh, nuggets!" the American 'swore' in exasperation, aiming a frustrated kick at the bars. He sank to the floor, drawing his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. "I'm so hungry," he complained aloud to himself. "I'd even eat one of Iggy's scones right now." He paused, then thought more carefully about what he had just said. "Actually, no. I'll _never_ be that hungry." He decided firmly.

Moments ticked by and Alfred sighed, closing his eyes. He wished he knew where he was. He had woken up in this cell two hours ago, his head throbbing and his last memory of his bedroom door swinging open, a terrible pain running through his body before he collapsed into darkness. He didn't even know who had done this to him; it had been too dark to see their face.

"Probably those stupid terrorists again." He muttered under his breath, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyelids slowly.

"Hm, not quite."

Alfred looked up and hastily pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his azure eyes widening in shock and disbelief. No way.. this couldn't be real. "Who.. who are you?" he demanded, glaring at the figure on the other side of the bars.

The figure flashed him a chilling smile half-obscured in shadow. "You should know that better than anyone, shouldn't you, Alfred F. Jones?"

.

"You know, Angleterre, your concern for L'Amerique is quite touching." Francis commented, reclining on the loveseat in Arthur's living room, a glass of red wine in hand. It was English wine, but it would have to do.

"Shut up, frog." Arthur snapped, pacing back and forth, likely wearing a hole in the antique rug. Eleven pairs of eyes were focused on him, obviously waiting for something to happen.

"Um, Arthur?" Matthew spoke up in a soft voice barely above a whisper, tucking a wavy piece of yellow blonde hair behind an ear, which promptly fell into his eyes again. "Do you even know where to start looking for Al?"

"I wouldn't think so, judging by the way he's digging a trench in his carpeting with all his pacing." Francis jibed, eyes twinkling mischievously over the rim of his wine glass.

Arthur shot him another warning look. "Well do _you_ have any brilliant ideas?" he demanded. "I've already called his boss; he has no idea where Alfred is either! I even asked _Tony_! We've checked his house already, and the only other place I could think to find him in would be McDonald's, and do you know how many of those damned places there are in his country! 12,804! Do you know how long it would take the eleven of us to search all of them!"

"Ve, England is really worked up about this." Feliciano commented loudly in Ludwig's ear. "Do you think it has anything to do with his sexual tensions with America?"

England turned to the Italian, giving him a dumb-founded look. "I-I have no such thing!" he protested. "You need to stop listening to France!"

Feliciano pressed himself against the back of the couch, gripping Ludwig's arm. "Germany!" he wailed. "England's yelling at me! Save me!"

"Dude, what's got Italy so freaked out? If its Iggy's eyebrows, I don't blame ya, man. Those things have _hissed_ at me on more than one occasion." Every head in the room turned to stare at the American in the doorway, usual grin in place and a greasy paper fast-food bag clutched in his hand.

Everyone was silently for several moments, until Feliciano shot out of his seat, waving his arms excitedly. "I found America!" he shouted excitedly. "What do I win, what do I win!"

The others ignored him, still staring at Alfred in mutual surprise, as well as a little annoyed that they had been dragged all the way to Arthur's house to find an American who apparently hadn't been lost in the first place.

"Wh.. Where the hell have you been, bloody git!" Arthur snapped, stalking forward and punching the American several times in the chest. "What was with the freaky phone message you left me! You nearly gave me a heart attack! And why was your bedroom such a disaster when I went to look for you! I thought you might have been kidnapped!"

Alfred didn't even flinch toward the punches, laughing his rancorous laugh. "I was at Micky D's!" he explained, holding up the greasy-looking bag.

"Well, at least England was right about one thing, da?" Ivan spoke up cheerfully. "And as long as we're here, you all can become one with Russia~ Kol Kol."

Everyone slowly slunk a few steps back, all wearily eyeing the water pipe the Russian was 'inconspicuously' showing under the folds of his coat. "I, uh, have a better idea!" Antonio spoke up quickly, raising to his feet and grabbing Lovino's wrist, helping him do the same. "Lets a go out for drinks instead! Gilbert's treat!"

"Hey!"

Everyone quickly agreed and filed out of the Englishman's house at the prospect of free drinks, a certain albino trudging along behind and muttering curses under his breath while a slightly-transparent Canadian awkwardly patted his back.

Arthur breathed out a sigh of relieve when the door closed and turned to Alfred, raising an eyebrow when he realized the American hadn't made a move to follow. "You're not going to join them?" he asked. It wasn't like Alfred to turn down a good time, or anything free for that matter.

Alfred just smiled at him; it wasn't his usual toothy grin, either. It was small and intimate, and his blue eyes seemed to smolder with intensity over the frames of his glasses. "You were really worried about me, weren't you, Arthur?" he asked in a low voice, setting the bag of artery-clogging junk food on the coffee table. He took a step closer to the Brit, who seemed to realize for the first time how close they were already standing.

Arthur made to take a step back, only to feel his back pressing into the wall, the corner of a picture frame irritably digging into the shell of his ear. "Don't make such absurd suggestions!" he snapped, though his voice almost seemed to quiver. He had never seen Alfred look this way; so serious, so… well, goddamn attractive.

"You know, I've always been able to see through your lies, Arthur." _Arthur.. _He was saying 'Arthur'. Not 'Iggy', not 'Artie' or any of those other atrocious nicknames the American had bestowed upon him. And for once Alfred's voice wasn't loud and whiny; it was low and even, almost nothing like any time Arthur had heard the Yank's voice before now.

"You never hated me, or even disliked me." Alfred continued to say, placing a hand on the wall next to the Brit's head, trapping his chin between his thumb and forefinger when he tried to duck away. Arthur felt his head being tipped back with a gentle force, a familiar heat rising in his cheeks. He struggled to keep his breathing under control, and his head felt oddly weightless. "You love me, you always have. You're just afraid I'll leave you again if you admit it,"

Arthur's eyes widened, his shoulders stiffening in shock. "Alfred, I-" he started to say, but the American silenced him with a forceful, burning kiss; and after that all thoughts seemed to vanish. Because Alfred was kissing him._ His Alfred,_ was kissing him.

Arthur melted against the wall and in the American's strong arms, losing himself in the perfection and the frantic pounding of his heart. He could feel Alfred everywhere, closer than he had ever dared to dream. His hand holding his chin in place, his long legs and muscular chest pressed into his own, something cold pressing above his naval….

Wait, what? That wasn't right… Arthur opened his eyes to the sound of a gunshot and a terrible pain ripping through his abdomen. He choked, his mouth tasting of iron, and dropped slowly to the floor. What was.. what was happening? He blinked slowly, his head tipping back to stare up at the American in shock and confusion.

"Alfred.." he rasped, his own voice nearly unrecognizable, overwhelmed by agony and betrayal. "Why.." he felt unnaturally cold, his vision turning black around the edges.

And then the strangest thing happened. It could have been the fact that he was rapidly losing blood from the wound in his stomach, or maybe he was just going crazy. But Arthur saw himself come to stand beside the America, saw himself and Alfred glare down at him with cold, malicious grins.

"Good work, Resgram." He heard his own voice say. "But you didn't have to shoot him."

"No matter." Alfred replied, just as the blackness in Arthur's vision began to swallow him up entirely. "They'll all be dead soon anyway."

.

**A/N:**

**Ahh! Finally chapter five! I'm sorry its so short, but I wanted to leave it off on a cliffhanger!**

**Is anyone starting to figure out what's going on here? XD I'd like to hear your theories!**

**Also, I'm really sorry for how much USUK has been in this story, especially for those of you who don't like the pairing. This is supposed to be a mult-pairing fic, but the main pairing is supposed to be GerIta. I promise, I'll get back to them soon! But please understand that there is a method to my madness!**

**Please review so I have inspiration to continue! If you can't think of anything to say, just say 'MY AUNTIE'S OVARIES MAKE BEATUIFUL WAFFLES!' or something completely random and out of the blue like that to make me smile!**


	6. Chapter 6

Alfred jolted awake, his eyelids snapping open at the sound of several footsteps coming down the hall, followed by the unmistakable hushing sound of something being dragged. His heart rate picked up and his curiosity spiked. What was going on now?

"I see you're awake." Alfred heard an exact imitation of his own voice say, what he could refer to as his doppelganger's face coming into view. "We have a present for you."

Alfred tensed, immediately expecting some kind of torture as Alfred #2 opened the door to the cell. The dragging sound came again, then Alfred's doppelganger gave whatever it was a hard push, before quickly slamming the door shut again.

Alfred looked down, his eyes dilating to adjust to the dim light. He recognized at first the shape of a person, then slowly more details: pale skin, yellow blonde hair… absolutely the _biggest _eyebrows he had ever seen….

"Iggy!" he gasped, crawling over to his former care-taker, panicking at the sight of blood leaking from a wound in his abdomen and how shallow the Englishman's breathing was. Alfred glared back up at his captor accusingly. "Dammit, what did you do to him?!" he demanded.

"Shot him." The other said simply, shrugging. "I thought you'd like having a cellmate."

Alfred ignored him, ripping the fabric from the bottom of his pants. He lifted Arthur's shirt and sweater vest up to his ribcage, wrapping the fabric around his slender body to reduce the bleeding. "Its okay, Iggy." He whispered to the unconscious Brit. "You're going to be okay."

"How can you be sure?" Alfred's look-alike jeered. "He's bled pretty heavily, and even if he is a Nation he won't last long without proper medical treatment."

"I won't let him die!" Alfred said firmly, cradling Arthur's head in his lap.

"You can try," Alfred 2.0 chuckled darkly, turning to leave. "But it honestly doesn't matter; you'll both be dead in a matter of time."

.

"You're not used to alcohol, are you?" Gilbert gasped, half-dragging, half-carrying Matthew up the long driveway.

"What do you mean?" Matthew giggled, swaying when Gilbert stole the keys from his pocket. "I didn't have any aaaaaalchooool~"

The albino rolled his eyes but smiled, unlocking the Canadian's front door and hauling him inside. "Sure, Mattie, whatever you say." Eventually he got tired of dragging him and lifted him instead, cradling him bridal style. "Where's your bedroom?"

Matthew gasped and shook his head frantically. "We can't do that!" He said loudly. "You didn't even buy me dinner first!"

Gilbert tried not to laugh, carrying him up the stairs. "I'm just going to help you get into bed." He assured him.

"Oh, good." Matthew laughed, swinging his slender legs back and forth, looking amused. "That would be really bad if we did."

That made Gilbert stop, looking down at his Canadian friend quickly. What was Matthew saying? Why would it be so bad if something happened between them?... Why did that upset him so much? "O-oh?" was all he could manage, his heart thrown into a frantic, uneven pace.

"Yeah," Matthew nodded, seeming deep and thought. He pressed a fingertip to his petal-pink lips, puckering thoughtfully. "You know that guy, Matthew Williams?"

Gilbert gave him an odd look. What was he going on about now? _He_ was Matthew Williams. Still, he nodded anyway, too alarmed by the previous information to find this at all amusing. "Yeah, I know him." He said, his voice sounding a little strained.

"Well, he likes you." The blonde informed him, his voice lowering into a hushed, secretive whisper. "I mean, he _like_ likes you. He'd be so jealous if he found out you did anything with me."

Gilbert stared at him incredulously. _Was zum Teufel__?_ This was just too weird. Matthew was talking about himself like he was an entirely different person, and on top of that he said that he _liked_ him. Was it just the alcohol talking, or was there actually some truth to his words? Gilbert was afraid to ask, but he knew it was pointless until the Canadian got sober again.

"Is that right?" Was all he could manage, nudging the door to Matthew's bedroom open with his hip. He carried him over to the bed, setting him down gently. "Get some sleep." He instructed. "You're gonna have one hell of a ((**BUTLER**)) hangover in the morning."

"Nuuuuuu!" Matthew crooned, reaching out and grabbing onto his arm. "Stay!"

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, biting the inside of his cheek as he contemplated it. He seriously cared about Matthew, loved him more intensely than he was afraid to admit; he wanted to be with him and have a real relationship with him. He couldn't treat the shy, timid Canadian the way he would anyone else. "Nein, Mattie, I don't think that's a good idea." He'd be too tempted. "Get some sleep."

He reached over and gently removed the glasses from Matthew's face, setting them down on the nightstand. Matthew made a noise of complaint but laid down, his eyelids fluttering shut. "Night Gil," he said, pulling the covers up to his chin. He fell asleep almost instantly, his chest raising and falling in deep, calming breaths.

Gilbert leaned down, his heart racing in his chest as he pressed a light, tender kiss to the blonde's forehead. "Guten nacht, Vögelchen." He whispered, briefly combing his fingers through Matthew's soft, downy locks before straighten back up again.

Gilbert left the room silently, opening the door to Matthew's linen closet and retrieving a blanket and a spare pillow. He figured he might as well stay the night; after taking care of him, Matthew definitely owed Gilbert some pancakes in the morning. Plus, it was an excuse to spend more time with him.

He descended the staircase, tossing the pillow and blanket onto the blood red couch and collapsing tiredly onto it. It had been a long day, and the alcohol he had consumed at the bar was having its toll on him, making his eyelids feel heavy. It wasn't hard to close him eyes and let his mind slip into deep, dreamless sleep.

.

Matthew bolted awake, his heart beating at a mile a minute. He could have sworn just now a loud crash had woken him up… maybe Kuma had knocked over the refrigerator again trying to steal a fish from the freezer.

The noise came again, a louder crash followed by a painful cry.

_Gilbert!_ Was Matthew's first thought as he sprung out of bed, racing for the door. _Gilbert's still here!_ It was still dark; what could his albino friend possibly be doing in the middle of the night to cause so much noise?

He stumbled down the staircase, gripping the banister for support. His head was throbbing, but he was able to think a little clearer now. The lights were completely out, and he could practically feel his pupils dilating to see through the inky darkness. Someone was still making quiet, pained noises, though it sounded muffled, as though there were something covering their mouth.

Matthew felt panic grip him, his hand shooting out to grope at the wall, searching desperately for the light switch. His fingers curled around it, pushing it up so that the living room lights blinked to life. Immediately he saw that the coffee table had been knocked over, the glass top shattered to a million pieces. The window was shattered as well, and there were three people in the middle of all the mess.

For a moment Matthew wondered if he could still be dreaming. There were two Gilberts there, in addition to someone who looked exactly like himself down to every last detail, minus the malicious smirk and the cruel gleam in his light lavender eyes. One Gilbert had the other pinned the floor, a black rectangular hand-held devise pressed forcefully against the trapped Gilbert's ribcage. He was shaking, the hand clapped over his mouth muffling his screams.

"Wh.. what's going on!?" Matthew squeaked, his voice raising an octave in panic. All three sets of eyes swiveled in his direction at once, the Gilbert on the floor looking just as horrified.

He made a suddenly jerking motion with his arm, grabbing the other Gilbert's shoulder and kneeing him in the gut. "Mattie, run!" he shouted once his captor's hand came free of his mouth. "Go get West! Tell him what's going on!"

A million thoughts were running through Matthew's mind at the moment. He knew that if he ran, Gilbert would not be able to defend himself against these people, and he would be at the mercy of whatever they decided to do with him. He also didn't know if he would be much help to Gilbert if he did stay behind; he wasn't much of a fighter, but he didn't want to think about what could be done to the Prussian if he left.

"Mattie, go!" Gilbert shouted again, his voice desperate and urgent. He didn't care what happened to himself, he just wanted Matthew to be safe.

Matthew turned around quickly, sprinting for the front door when something clenched around the back of his shirt, jerking him back. He let out a startled yelp, his knees buckling underneath him. Strong arms forced him onto his knees, something hard and cold pressing between his shoulder blades, emitting a strong, pulsing electric-like wave of agony that flooded his entire body.

His head fell back, an agonized scream already ringing in his ears before he even registered that it was his own. His vision swam, but vaguely he could make out the face of the person who looked exactly like himself holding him down. Gilbert was still on the floor, staring at Matthew in horror; he was shouting at him, but somehow the words were lost to Matthew, unable to hear him over his own cries of pain.

A sensation of drowning suddenly overwhelmed him, his vision slowly turning black. His head felt heavy, and for a reason unknown to him he couldn't draw any air into his legs.

"Mattie…! MATTIE, WAKE UP…!" Gilbert's desperate screams finally broke through the darkness, but they sounded as though he were standing at the opposite end of a long tunnel. Matthew tried to speak, tried to call back to him for help, but the darkness overwhelmed him finally, swallowing him up and pulling him into a deep, dreamless unconsiousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Warnings for this chapter: Suggestive situations and sexual themes... basically Denmark's dirty mind.**

It started out as a subtle soreness, slowly blossoming into a full-out agony burning a hole in his stomach. Arthur wanted to scream but he could hardly breathe; his head felt light and he was absolutely freezing. Something warm was pressed against his face, sweeping his hair away from his clammy forehead.

And then suddenly it all came rushing back to him. Alfred missing and then suddenly turning up as though nothing had happened, the intense kiss they had shared, then the sound of a gunshot and the searing pain that came with it followed by the strange, confusing last seconds before everything faded into darkness. He replayed the scene over and over again in his head, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Alfred had shot him... and then someone who looked just like himself had stepped into view. He had called Alfred something strange, said something about them all being dead soon. But what did it mean? Who was this person who looked exactly like him? More than that, why did Alfred do what he did? Why did he kiss him like that, play with and expose his feelings, then shoot him and betray him seconds later?

A tear slid down Arthur's cheek before he could even think to hold it back. Something warm stopped the water droplet in its tracks, caressing it away with a feather-light touch.

"Oh God, Iggy," A familiar voice whispered, strained with anguish. "Its going to be okay... I don't know if you can hear me, but I promise I've got you. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you anymore."

A warm pair of lips pressed against Arthur's forehead, causing his eyelids to snap open. "No!" He shouted, his hands flying up to push away the person leaning over him.

Alfred leaned away quickly to avoid being struck, reaching out and carefully seizing the Englishman's wrists. "Iggy!" He gasped, sounding relieved. "Careful not to move too much, you'll hurt yourself."

"Hurt myself?!" Arthur screeched, his tone incredulous. "Coming from the bloke that bloody SHOT me!" He felt hot, angry tears stinging his eyes. "How could you, Alfred?! Do you honestly hate me that much?! W-was becoming independent not enough for you?! You had to get rid of me too?!"

Alfred stared at him in stunned silence, his blue eyes earnest and sad. "Iggy! That wasn't me! I've been here for days!"

"You can't sell me that shit!" Arthur bit back, furious tears rolling down his cheeks. "I was _there, _Alfred, I saw you do it!"

"I know it _looked_ like me but you have to believe me, Iggy! I've been here the whole time!" The American insisted. "There's a guy that looks exactly like me... he came to my house and attacked me! Then he brought me here! I swear, whatever he did to you it had nothing to do with me!"

Arthur stared at him in silence for a moment, struggling to register what he had said. If Arthur hadn't seen his _own_ clone appear just before he fainted he would probably call Alfred crazy.

"Just look around, Iggy." The American pleaded. "We're in a cell.. we're _locked in_. Why would I lock myself in a cell? And if I shot you then why wouldn't I take this time to finish you off?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. Dammit, bloody Yank had a point. "Fine." He let his head fall back against the concrete floor, letting his breath out in a painful rush. "Bloody hell..." He mumbled, his hand going to gingerly touch the blood-stained skin around his wound. "He really got me good, then."

Alfred crawled closer, gently peeling back the makeshift bandage he had created. "This was a close-range shot, huh?" He asked in a low voice. His eyes were dark and uncharacteristically serious, his lips drawn into a deep-set frown. "It tore right through you..."

Arthur said nothing in response, staring at Alfred's expression perplexedly. The blue-eyed Nation looked upset, angry even. "I'll kill him," Alfred whispered suddenly under his breath.

"What?" Arthur blinked, caught off-guard by the venom in his tone.

"I'm going to kill him," Alfred repeated, more loudly and clearly. "I'm going to kill the guy that looks like me, for hurting you and making you think I would ever mean you harm."

"Alfred..." The Brit started to say but was quickly cut off.

"I'm never going to hurt you again, Arthur." The American grabbed his hands, giving them a squeeze. "Not after my revolution... I never want to see you that way again... And I can't accept anyone else hurting you either."

Arthur felt tears prickle his eyes, hope soaring in his chest. Alfred was saying all the right things, and it was actually him this time... But that didn't mean Alfred wanted to kiss him the way the imposter had; as sweet as he was being, the American had never given him any impression that he was gay.

"Alfred," Arthur whispered again, freeing his hand from the young Nation's grasp. He ran his trembling hand up Alfred's muscular arms, swallowing thickly and blinking the moisture out of his eyes. "I-I'm sorry for doubting you..." He touched his neck tentatively, twisting an amber lock of hair between his fingers.

"Its okay... Your hands are cold." Alfred whispered, sliding off his bomber jacket and draping it carefully over his former care-taker.

Arthur closed his eyes, letting out an unsteady breath he didn't know he had been holding. The jacket was warm and smelled like Alfred, like honeysuckle and grass and sunshine- a familiar, comforting scent. It wasn't a second later that Arthur felt something warm and soft pressing sweetly, delicately against his mouth.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat from the initial shock, then everything came sharply into focus. He forgot about the pain and the cold and all there was and all that mattered was Alfred F. Jones; the security of his strong, gentle touch; the smell of his jacket; the tender carress of his lips.

Arthur could have drowned happily for eternity in those few blissful moments, were it not for the sudden furious shouting in... German? What the-

"VERDAMMT, WER SEID IHR?! I'M GONNA KILL YOU FUCKERS. LET ME _GO_, VERDAMMT!"A familiar, grating voice screamed.

Alfred pulled his lips away with an irritated growl. "Dammit, what is _he_ doing here?"

.

Mathias was pretty sure he was going to die from the sheer amount of blood gushing from his nostrils. The fact that he hadn't yet was only proof that this had to be a dream... a really, really good dream that he never wanted to wake up from.

It was not half an hour ago that Mathias had been at home, relaxing on the couch with a bottle of beer and plotting his next scheme to get Lukas to hang out with him, when the personalized text tone for said Norwegian went off in his pocket. After a five-minute struggle of attempting to free the phone from his pants (he was sooo not wearing skinny jeans ever again), the Dane opened the message only to receive the biggest shock and near-heart attack of his life. For there, clear as day on the screen of his brand new iPhone5, was a picture of Lukas looking like something out of one of Mathias's naughtier dreams.

The Norwegian's hands were tied together at the wrists and secured to the headboard of his bed. His pale, slender legs were tucked underneath him and he was sitting on his ankles, the hem of one of Lukas's favorite sweaters (the light lavender one Mathias always loved because it brought out the color in his eyes) barely concealing what was obviously not covered by underwear of a pair of boxers. A piece of cloth was tied like a gag around Lukas's mouth, and his cheeks were flushed with color. Below the picture, Lukas had typed a single sentence: "I'm waiting for you, anko~"

It look less than a second for Mathias to literally drop everything he was doing and run like a madman all the way to Lukas's house. He couldn't believe it. This had to be a dream! Mathias had been coming on to Lukas for years but all his fellow Scandinavian had ever done was push him away. Now... now this?! He was curious what could have changed Lukas's mind so suddenly about him, but that could wait; first, he was going to take advantage of the pretty little Norwegian being all tied up~

Mathias was panting by the time he made it to Lukas's doorstep. He raised his arms and gave each pit a sniff, making sure he hadn't perspired at all; there would be no being stinky for his Norge! Satisfied that he smelled fresh as a daisy, he checked reflection in the screen of his phone, adjusting his hair so that every golden lock stood at a perfect point.

It was still early in the afternoon so it was hard to tell, but it didn't look like there were any lights on inside the house. Figuring that since Lukas was tied up inside, he assumed the front door had been unlocked for him (not that it mattered, though- Mathias would break down a wall to get inside after seeing that picture). Fortunately for Lukas, the door opened right up for Mathias, and there would be no breaking-and-entering for the Dane that day.

Mathias shut the door silently behind him, grinning like a fool. He went intermediately for the staircase, his mind playing through a million dirty scenarios. He had never really taken Lukas for the bondage sort of guy, but he certainly wasn't complaining; he would have put on a bunny suit and danced to "Baby" by Justin Beiber if Lukas was in to that sort of thing.

The bedroom door came into view seconds later and Mathias nearly ran to it, throwing the door wide open with his usual idiot smile plastered to his face. "NOOORGE~" He shouted gleefully, "I got your text, you dirty little vixen~!"

Lukas looked up sharply at the sound of his voice, his cheeks boiling red. He started screaming against the gag in his mouth, everything came out a muffled, indiscernible mess.

Mathias laughed in delight, crossing over to the bed and sitting down next to the platinum blonde. He laid a hand on his thigh, higher up than he had ever dared to sneak a grope before; this earned him a furious glare, which he happily ignored. "What was that, Norgie-poo?" He asked, feeling as though his cheeks would break from smiling this wide. "I couldn't hear you."

Lukas gave him a look that would have frightened even Belarus; he lashed out with his leg in an attempt to dislodge the hand, but that only provided an even better opening for the Dane. His hand shot out and dove under the hem of Lukas's sweater, grabbing onto a _very_ private area and giving it a brief stroke, which earned him a shudder.

"Don't be like that, Norge," Mathias sulked. "You're the one who invited me over." He reached up with his free hand and pulled down the gag, freeing the Norwegian's succulent lips.

"Anko-!" Lukas immediately started to say, but was cut off with a deep, invasive kiss.

Mathias licked his lips apart, his tongue entering his mouth and delving deeply. His heart was beating a million miles a minute and he could hardly restrain his joy. This was real, this wasn't a dream; his was kissing Lukas... he was _touching_ Lukas.

And then Lukas bit down on his tongue so hard that it drew blood.

Mathias yelped and pulled back, both hands immediately coming up to clasp over his mouth. Dammit that hurt! Why had Norge done that?! He could handle the whole bondage thing, but he wasn't sure he was comfortable with masochism! He looked over at Lukas for some kind of explanation, but all anger died immediately when he saw the tears clinging to the corners of those lovely lavender eyes, threatening to overflow.

"N-Norge..?" He started to say, anxiety forming knots in his stomach. Dear Odin... Lukas _never_ cried. In all the years Mathias had known him, he had never seen the usually expressionless, emotionless Norwegian cry. He must have screwed up. Badly.

"You're.. s-such an i-idiot..." Lukas whispered, closing his eyes as the first tear ran down his cheek.

Mathias reached out immediately, brushing the tear away with his thumb. "Oh God.. Norge, I-I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I swear I didn't-"

"And now they're going to get you too." Lukas continued in a whisper, as though he had never been interrupted. "You're such an idiot, anko."

The Dane's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "'They'?" He repeated, tilting his head. "Whose 'they', Norge?"

Lukas opened his eyes again, fixing him with a narrowed stare. "Denmark." He said thr0ugh his teeth, his voice low and dangerous. "If I was tied to the bed, who the fuck do you think sent you that picture?"

Mathias's confusion melted into an icy chill running straight down his spine. He saw Lukas's glare shift a fraction of an inch to focus on something behind him, and turned over his shoulder to look.

For a split second the Dane thought there must have been a mirror there he had never noticed before, until his reasoning skills caught up with him. This man, who literally could have been a mirror image of himself, was standing up whilst Mathias was sitting down, and they were each wearing a different set of clothes.

"Wh..who are you?" was the only intelligent sentence Mathias could think to say at the time, standing up slowly. His guard was up, all the bloodthirsty instincts he had kept under wraps after the Viking era had end quickly came raising to the surface, ready for a fight. This man had tied Lukas up and had made him cry, and had lured him here for who knows what reason; he really didn't see any way this could end pretty. His fingers flexed reflexively at his side... damn he wished he hadn't left his axe at home.

The look-alike smiled; it wasn't the same goofy smile Mathias always wore, but something much more unnerving. "My name used to be Mathias Køhler, just like you." He said, taking a black, rectangular device out of his pocket and twirling it between his slender fingers. "Friends call me Vain now."

Mathias frowned, his eyes darting around the room for a fraction of a second, searching for something he could use to defend himself and Norge if need be. The nearest thing in reach was a lamp, but everything else would be useless. "Okay, 'Vain'," He squared his shoulders, looking his doppleganger in his identical set of seafoam-green eyes. "What do you want?"

Vain's smile stretched wider. "That's simple," he purred, taking a step closer. "You."

Lukas hissed and yanked on his restaints, throwing his body forward threateningly. "Don't you dare touch him!" He shouted with surprising venom.

They both ignored him. "What do you mean, me?" Mathias raised an eyebrow, his hand just itching to grab for the lamp and club the imposter over the head with it. There would be time for that later, though, and right now he should focus on at least getting whatever information he could out of the guy.

"Its exactly as I said, simpleton." Vain rolled his eyes. "Are you really as much of an idiot as everyone says? I mean, I know this anime is all about playing into stereotypes but _come on_!_.._ oops, fourth wall broken. Anyway, back to the point," He cleared his throat, taking another step forward. "I want you to be a good boy and cooperate with me here. You and your pretty little boyfriend are going to follow me to the place where me and all of my friends have been locking up all of _your_ friends, and you're going to sit there patiently and wait while we kill you... slowly."

"_Vain,_" a slim, short figure appeared in the doorway, a man who looked just like Lukas crossing his arms over his chest. "Shut up. You talk too much."

Vain shrugged his shoulders, still grinning. "I'm not telling them anything they won't find out for themselves in time." He said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from the back pocket of his jeans and twirling them around a fingertip. He looked straight at Mathias again, grinning. "So what do you say, handsome? Ya comin'?"

Mathias pursed his lips, thinking. "Just one question."

"Sure, name it."

"Are you the one who undressed Norge and tied him to the bed?"

Vain blinked at him, then threw back his head and laughed wildly. "WOW. _That's_ your question?! Jealous, are we?" He smirked, licking his lips in a taunting way. "Of course it was me. It was surprisingly easy, too! All I had to do was waltz in here pretending to be you, be more suave and romantic than you could ever be. Little slut fell for it completely, was totally willing to let me down what I wanted until I started to get rough."

Mathias's blood was boiling with fury. This man... this bastard had touched Lukas; this bastard had taken advantage of _his_ Norge! He had touched him and done terrible things to him, masquerading as Mathias the entire time!

"I tied him up and started to take off his clothes, but once I saw his pathetic little package I didn't even want to take his cherry anymo-!"

Within a split second Mathias had the lamp in his hand and Vain pinned to the floor; his raised an arm over his head, ready t0 bring it mercilessly down on his skull. "Bastard! _I'll kill you for treating Norge this way!"_ He screamed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The imposter Lukas's voice chimed in pleasantly.

Mathias turned his head sharply to see that the fake Lukas had crossed the room and now knelt on the bed next to the real one, the barrel of a gun pressed against the side of his head.

"Now," he continued, smiling sweetly at Mathias. "Why don't you put the lamp down and do as we say, and no one has to get hurt?"

**A/N:**

**Tired... 6:37am... I've been writing all night.**

**-slumps-**

**I got a Tumblr guys.**

**You should go follow me.**

**My account is the same as it is on here: Hyper4Hetalia. That's the name of my blog, too.**

**Sorry for slow update schedules, you guys. I promise I'll try to update more often.**

**Also, please review. I love this story, but its like my least reviewed one even though it has the most chapters. It makes me really sad, to be honest.**

**On another note, no one has guessed who the imposter-nations are. There have been some close guesses, though.**

**Now: Review, review, review, review, review, review, review, review, review, review, review, review, review, review... -snore- Immasleepnow.**


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